Can't Forget You
by flashpenguin
Summary: Ready to chuck three years of sobriety, Lionel Fusco contemplates a reason to go on following Joss Carter's death. As he reflects back on his life and career, he realizes just how blessed he was to get a second chance. And how he will never forget Joss. ***Warning! May need Kleenex!*** COMPLETE!


_Okay, I know I said that there wouldn't be anything new for a few days, but damn if Fusco didn't start talking to me about his life story! And who am I to turn down my man Fusco?! Heard this song by Gloria Estefan the other morning, and it started the wheels turning. It fits Fusco to a T, and maybe that's why I chose to write instead of sleep. I hope you enjoy._

_Song prompt: "Can't Forget You" by Gloria Estefan_

_I don't own Person of Interest._

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**Can't Forget You**

Lionel Fusco's hands shook as he poured the whiskey in the glass. The aroma of the potent liquid tickled his senses with promises of fulfillment and refuge from the sins that were nipping at his heels. And God knew he had a lot of sins to atone for - the biggest being that he threw his life away.

Capping the bottle, he set it to the side and lifted the glass. The amber liquid caught the faint light from the fireplace to cast an eerie shadow on the wall of the quiet, empty living room. Holding the glass to his lips, he started to sip. Then stopped.

_Give in,_ it called to him. _Let me help you find your peace and end your heartbreak. It's just one little sip..._

He stared at the glass. It would be so easy, he told himself, to just jump in the bottle and drown all of his heartbreak. He had done it before, he could do it again. Hell, what did he have to lose?

_Your soul,_ Joss Carter's voice whispered in his ear.

Closing his eyes, he sighed. There was a word he never would have associated with himself. He had no soul – at least one he would claim since he had sold it long ago to HR and the Devil.

He snorted. Was there a difference between the two? Both were evil and both were responsible for the hell he was going through.

No, he shook his head, _he_ was responsible for all that went wrong in his life: broken marriage, a son who didn't trust him, a black mark on his police record, the crimes he committed in the name of justice. All of those were his fault. His and his alone.

"_My friends call me Lionel. You got a first name?"_

"_Yeah. It's Detective."_

But she would always be an angel to him. Not that he was asking for one when she came into his life – or rather was _thrust _into his life – but she was what he was needed. She and their 'mutual friends' are what saved his life.

When he confessed everything to her that day in the precinct restrooms, he meant it. He had been going down the proverbial highway to hell on a rocket with no way to turn it around. His number was up; it was just a matter of time before it was called. But Joss had given him a reason to want to be better – to achieve better. He saw how she dedicated herself to the job and her son. And though it made him bitter in the beginning, he learned something about being a parent. She had blessed him in ways he didn't understand then.

She had been through a divorce, and where he had lost custody, she had retained custody of Taylor. A single woman who had been a Warrant Officer with a pristine record, who could have been a successful lawyer, had instead, chosen to become a police officer and fight the enemies at home. Yet, little did she know that she was sitting across from Benedict Arnold in the flesh.

He had had such high hopes for becoming a police officer when he was younger – hell, who didn't want to wear a badge and carry a gun and arrest the bad guys? He had eaten up all the cop shows when he was a kid, and dreamed of making a difference. Arrest the bad guys, clean up the streets, crack down on crime, at the end of the day you go home with a feeling of accomplishment.

Yeah, the wonderful world of make-believe that TV sells, he thought bitterly. It was a whole lot different when he actually donned the uniform and walked the beat. The rules they taught at the academy were nothing like the rules on the street, or the rules the gangs followed, or the rules the justice system used. After seeing crooks and drug dealers and pimps walk free on technicalities, it wasn't difficult to see how one could become bitter and disillusioned. And it wasn't difficult to see how he chose to take the fork in the road.

Drowning in a bottle of scotch after being kicked out of the house, he had no friends, no family, and no reason to live. Bullets were wishes to his prayers. Yet, even those eluded him. He couldn't win either way. He wondered if he had 'loser' written on his forehead. Maybe he did. Maybe that's why Jimmy Stills picked him to be his right hand man.

God help him, he knew it was wrong. Or was it? Shaking down pimps and two-bit drug dealers for scratch didn't seem so bad. Being the 'cleaner' when a job went down wrong, wasn't exactly a crime. Yes, things went wrong, and people ended up dead, but they were bad guys who had played the system and gotten away with murder. Tax evaders got more time, it wasn't fair!

But as his momma taught him: "Two wrongs don't make a right", it was becoming clear that the thin line between right and wrong had been blurred. And the more blurred it became, the deeper he sank into the bottle. Until that one day his life changed…forever.

For the good or the bad, he still wasn't sure, but the road he was on suddenly detoured and he was given a second chance. A do-over that he wasn't quite sure he deserved, but he would take it. Okay, so it meant that he had to put up with a pain in his ass called 'Mr Vocabulary', and the bane of his existence called 'The Man In The Suit', but for the first time in a long time, he was doing something good with his life.

Then he met her: Jocelyn Carter. Pretty, smart, and dedicated to her job. Okay, so it wasn't friendship at first handshake, but it wasn't the drawing of guns, either. A good first start. Although he was sent in to be a mole on behalf of the man who only kept him alive because he assumed there was still some good inside, he was wary of Carter, and for good reason.

Set up too many times to take the fall, he no longer knew who to trust. And besides, no one could possibly have a moral compass as good and straight as hers. He knew she _had_ to be on to him. She had to have seen thru him. Everyone else had. So, was it really a bad thing to suggest to John to just let Elias take her out and solve all of their problems?

Looking back now, he had been stupid. He wasn't thinking. How could he have known that she would save him from himself and point him in the right direction? How could he have known that she would redeem him and give him the absolution he had been looking for? How could he have known that he would fall in love with her?

He came so close to killing Simmons. He _should _have killed Simmons – no, not that last time – that would have been too easy. No, he should have killed that sorry bastard when he took Carter's son. Hell, he was a homicide detective and knew how to clean up a scene. Or even better, he could have buried him next to Stills. Two thugs snug as bugs in a rug, he mused as a bittersweet smile tugged at his lips.

Maybe if he had eliminated Simmons after he threatened Lee, he wouldn't be sitting in an empty living room with a glass of temptation in his hands. Maybe he would be at work solving another case or helping his mutual friends out of a sticky predicament or another close call. Maybe if…

Sighing deeply, he twirled the liquid in the glass. Round and round it went. Just like his life.

"_You're a bottom-dweller just like the rest of us, Fusco. There's no running from your past. It's made you and shaped you. You'll never be anything else."_

No, he contradicted himself, not anymore. His life had meaning and purpose. He now had direction and confidence. He now had a life and a reason to live it. And it was all because she had had faith in him. She showed him he could be a dad and not just a father. She taught him that second chances were possible – even for a schmuck like him. And he owed her more than jumping into a bottle and drowning his sorrows.

Giving in would mean that Simmons would win. There was no way he would ever let that happen. Not as long as there was life in him. He may have done some stupid things, but Lionel Fusco was no fool. And he never would be.

Setting the glass down on the table, he stood up. It was getting late and he had to leave early in the morning to go to Colorado. Maybe he could share some of his new found wisdom with John: Just because you lost yesterday didn't mean that you couldn't keep searching for tomorrow. Never give up, never stop searching.

And never forget your blessings.

_The End._


End file.
